


Evolution

by White_Rabbits_Clock



Series: Come On And Make Me [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alpha Steve, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Because homeboy got on dem pills, Beta Clint Barton, Beta Natasha, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, F/M, Foursome - F/F/M/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, My computer's about to die I'll finish this later, Okay I'm back, Omega Bruce Banner, Omega Clint Barton, Omega Prime, Omega Tony, Omega Verse, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-02-19 12:52:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13124109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Rabbits_Clock/pseuds/White_Rabbits_Clock
Summary: For a while, life as an Avenger is pretty good. They're all changing. Evolving. Now, if only they could survive the growing pains.





	1. The Armor

**Author's Note:**

> Hell yeah! We're at installment two! shit gets explicit in this chapter, guys.

The Iron Man suit is a weapon. The Iron Man suit is armor. The Iron Man suit is a prosthesis. The Iron Man suit the Iron Man suit the Iron Man suit belongs to Tony Stark and he will not be giving it up.

This is his decision, long before he steps foot in court. The military has been making noise for years about giving up the suit(s), ever since Stark ended SI’s military-contract days, in so far as weaponry is concerned. He still makes body armor. The navy wants the underwater version, the air force wants the flight capabilities, and the military wants the whole damn thing. They’ve been wanting it. He doesn’t know why it’s weighing so heavily on him now. Oh, wait, yeah he does.

“I’m just saying that a lot more good could be done with more pilots,” Steve says as he lifts a hand from where it’s hanging off his leg. He’s sitting on the couch in Tony’s office, where the billionaire is processing about a dozen different things at a time, the blue light of his holoscreens flickering as he reorganizes and responds.

“And I’m just saying that it doesn’t work like that. There are two people cleared for operating the Iron Man suit: Myself and Colonel Rhodes. Anyone else is not allowed.”

“I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn about it. It's not as if anyone’s making you.”

“Google it, Cap. They’ve been trying to make me for years. You should see some of the shit they’ve pulled.” Steve shrugs.

“It’s not like you don’t have a habit of pushing people’s buttons.”

“If they don’t like my attitude, they can leave my fucking sight. Instead fucking People Magazine’s putting out headlines like Tony Stark: Philanthropist or Public Enemy? Not because I am a public enemy- these days, I’m not even a public nuisance- but because I won’t give up the Iron Man suit.”

“Tony, have you even listened to what they have to say? They do have some good points.”

“I have listened, read, relistened, reread, notated, and renotated what they have to say, Steve. But since you seem keen on taking their side, I guess it’s time to debate it.” Tony tries not to let his annoyance show too much on his face.

Steve is not fooled.

“Tony, we’ve talked about this. It’s not about taking sides, and you can’t just write the military off because they annoy you.”

“I am not writing the military off because they annoy me. Hell, I’m not even writing you off because you’re annoying me, even though I so totally should. I’m writing the military off because they think that if I won’t give up the suit and do what they wish, they’ll just make me. That’s why. There are over two dozen patents and copyrights involved with Iron Man, and they want all of that in their hands. Their murdering, war-centered hands.” Tony lifts his chin when he stares at Steve. Everytime they talk, it becomes a contest of who’s got the bigger knot.

“Like you haven’t murdered,” Steve says, still unimpressed. Tony freezes where he’s at before he minimizes all his screens, the glow of his arc reactor hidden well beneath his layered shirts. Steve gets uncomfortable.

“Like I haven’t murdered?” he says, voice as soft as velvet, deadly as any poison.

“You have. You said it yourself- you made weapons for years before you quit.”

“So you think I should just continue on, then. You think I should over-weaponize and underutilize the armor so that the military can have man-shaped, flying arsenals completely under their control and all that is okay to do because, hey, years ago I was too blind to see what I was doing.” Steve tries not to shift on the couch. The smell in the air has changed- all metal, cold and sharp and biting, and no spice.

“I just think that maybe not piloting the armor would… help you.”

“Help me do what?” and Steve doesn’t say it, doesn’t say that he doesn’t like the idea of an omega out there flying around. He’s learned by now that any references to Stark’s second gender would get him one of those snarky, short replies filled with info that he just can’t accept that he hates so much.

“Relax. Your heart is… damaged. And you’re getting older. I’m not saying that you aren’t capable, I’m just worried for you.” it seems to click then, what he’s really getting at, because all of a sudden he sits back and jerks his head towards the door.

“Get out of my office.” Steve goes, and finds Natasha reading on her bed. Her head twists around, and her eyes meet his.

“Captain.”

“Can I talk to you?” Of all the people in this Tower, Natasha seems to be the only one he can confide in. Everyone else doesn’t really see things on an even keel.

“The door,” Black Widow says by way of permission. She sits up and turns around so that she’s facing Steve. The super soldier sits beside her.

“What troubles you?”

“I… it’s Stark. As a leader I cannot keep letting him risk his life, and he’s got this thing he could do with the military that he is refusing to even consider, and he seems to think that me trying to keep him healthy and alive counts as what he calls “forties alpha bullshit” and I don’t know what I’m meant to be doing now.” Natasha shrugs one shoulder, and her hand rests on top of Steve’s. She’s the only person who’s ever held his hand like this and not meant to gain sex.

“Stark is a big boy. If he wants to fly around in a suit of armor, he may. If he wants to contract with the military, he may. And if he wants to chew you out for your very unsubtle views on him and his second gender, he may. When you agreed to be team leader, you were told that Stark is, technically, a consultant, and not part of the team. That has not changed, and he is still free to do as he wishes. The only thing you can control is whether you use him or not.”

“Do you think I should bench him?”

“He will find his own trouble. Merely be more conservative with his application, and see if he will get the hint without ever causing a scandal. If you want to act at all. You are on some precarious ground when it comes to Iron Man.” Steve rubs a hand over his face.

“Yeah, I know, and I will, it’s just, everything I try is met with a Steve, you’re doing it wrong. These days I can’t even ask about his health without him going off.”

“In his defense, you ask as though you deserve to know.”

“I am the leader of the Avengers. Of course I deserve to know.”

“But that is not how you come off. You act as though you deserve to know because you are an alpha and you have deigned to ask. I would not accept your probing either, if you treated me like that.”

“But he knows why I am asking.”

“Are you sure? Are you sure that you are not merely coming off as yet another alpha with a knot bigger than his brain?” When she puts it like that, it’s easier to understand. But still, Steve knows how to run a team, it’s just that Stark won’t listen.

“You will never force him to do anything. To get him to work for you, you must first work with him,” she says, the words more sage and more said than Steve is really comfortable with.

“Yeah, I know.”

“If he says the Iron Man armor is his and his alone, than it is. If he says he does not wish to be any less involved with it than he currently is, it is your job, as the leader of this team, to support the decisions that a member- even a consultant- of your team has made involving his personal property and inventions and rights.”

“Yeah.”

“For all his brashness, Stark is a patient man. He seems to think you learning the things you have missed out on in the last seventy years is a worthwhile project. Let him teach you. I doubt you will find another omega less judging of the fact that have to learn at all.” Steve shrugs a shoulder. It's not that he doesn’t want to get acclimatized and it’s not that he doesn’t want to do better and it’s not that he doesn’t want to do right by Tony Stark.

It’s that he needs to be taught at all. It’s that the things that he was once praised for are now an unfortunate side-effect of being in the forties. It’s that he already had to relearn everything after Erskine’s experiment. It’s that, in order to learn from Tony Stark, the inventor would have to be more above him than he already is.

Pride, he’s finding, is a difficult thing to swallow.

He leaves Tasha shortly after and takes himself down to the gym, where he puts fist to bag until he can forget that, for all his worthwhileness of yesteryear, he’s but an embarrassing grandparent these days. For a while, the fact that Steve just doesn’t measure up to the pinnacle of the decade slides away.


	2. Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Clint have a chat. Clint considers his relationships.

A good inventing binge does wonders to clear his mind. For six hours, he throws away thoughts of Steve and the military and fucking Ross and his fucking shmoozing in yet another attempt to collect Bruce Banner and shut him back into the place that he fought so hard to stay out of.

For that entire time, he analyzes Hawkeye. Or, rather, Hawkeye’s weaponry. Every bow he’s ever had and all the recordings of him shooting and all the 3-D Motion Capture models he’s ever made. Then he gets to work. At the end of that time, he stumbles out of the lab, a new bow prototype loaded onto the laser printer, stomach hollow. He’s out of coffee. 

He’s relatively clean-this was just a light binge. He can’t afford to go full inventing mode now. The judicious application of deodorant means he doesn’t stink, either, so he decides he’s good for the communal kitchen. First things first, he cuts a thick slice of cheese off the block and shoves the rest back into the fridge. 

Then he grabs a package of preportioned noodles, turns on the stove, and puts water on to boil along with the coffee. Twenty minutes later he’s sitting there with a real meal and a really good cup of coffee and he’s scarfing the former down while he waits for the latter to cool.

“Stark, you’re gonna choke,” Barton says as he wanders past him to collect his own coffee from the pot.

“Fucking starving.”

“Well, keep more food in the lab, then,” it’s an old-ish conversation. In the year they’ve been living together in the tower, the two have developed the similar veins of half-admonishments and camaraderie. Tony wonders why he gets along better with the beta more than he gets along with anyone else. His closest companions have always been omegas, but, with the exception of Pepper and Rhodey, Clint is swiftly working his way there. He’s certainly closer than Steve.

“I had food. Forgot to restock.” Tony has to stop eating, because his chest does the thing when it feels too small because he ate too fast. It’s distinctly more uncomfortable with the arc reactor, these days. His nostrils get wider as he breathes through it.

“You have JARVIS. Have him restock for you.”

“He does. Someone would have to bring the food down to the lab, and I rarely let people in at all, nevermind people in with the explicit purpose of fucking with my food.” Clint rolls his eyes and nudges Tony with his elbow. 

“You need better friends, Stark.” Tony can’t tell what that’s supposed to mean. He and Clint are definitely friends, and Clint isn’t likely to fucking disturb Tony while he’s working, and he doesn’t think the archer would mind the occasional trip down to the Land of Oz that is Tony’s workshop. Him and Bruce are friends, too, though as a radiation expert and physicist, Bruce is a bit more focused on other things and has his own, much quieter, much better stocked lab.

So is Clint saying that Tony needs better friends, or is he saying his friends need better clearance?

“Who would want to be better friends with me?” Clint shrugs and opens the pop tart that has appeared out of nowhere.

“I like your lab. I don’t like paperwork. I don’t mind bringing things to people, especially if certain people like to get me in on the R&D of new arrows and bows that I will be using. So I could be your better friend. It wouldn’t even have to be full access. Just some provisional type shit that Jarvis could monitor.” Tony looks at him out of the corner of his eye and takes another bite of his noodles.

Why does he care?

“Why?” Clint shrugs.

“I like your lab. It’s nice. And I like that you have a no-holds-barred sense of humor. That’s nicer.” Tony has finished his food by now and takes his bowl to the sink to wash it and the pan. He walks off, head in the clouds with the suggestion that Clint get access to his workshop, ostensibly to bring him food.

The idea is nice enough, and Clint is a good presence to have around, but… he is a beta, and alphas and betas have a hard time not telling him what to do. Maybe it isn’t a good idea. But maybe it is. At no point in their year long association has Clint Barton ever attempted anything even mildly sexual or even all that commanding. In fact, he’s so beta in that way he’s almost not. At the same time, though, he is so obviously not a beta. He’s liable to start fights, not end them, and play devil’s advocate as long as it keeps the conversation going. 

Maybe he should. He tries to make a list in his head of all the people he could potentially give access to the lab to, but he comes up pretty short.

Pepper has a way of demanding he do paperwork, no matter what stage of his work cycle he’s in, so she can’t just walk into the lab anymore. Had a case of the controls, unfortunately. He likes Pepper, loves her even, really, but their on and off sharing of his heats has made it expressly difficult to maintain neutrality when they are away from spaces where they both have equal right to be. It’s unfortunate, but it’s true. The intimacy of access to the workshop makes it too complicated.

In fact, Tony is well aware that one of these months will bring the moment where she decides to either be all the way in or all the way out, and Tony is comfortable with neither of those. He likes their relationship- their hands-off, do-what-you-need sort of love- but Pepper is the sort to devote herself wholly to any one thing. One of these days, she would find a person to do that with, and it couldn’t be Tony. Not when she would be the first to receive a call if he wasn’t coming home. He’s enjoying it while it lasts, though, and telling himself he’ll be alright when she goes.

Rhodey is different entirely. Though he and Tony have never gone to bed together, so no control issue, the military likes to try and pressure him into getting things from Tony. He would never forgive himself if, when asked if he had high-level workshop access, he had to answer in the affirmative. With Ross breathing down their necks about Bruce, it’s best to pretend that his best friend doesn’t mean as much as he really does. Besides, he’s never here, and he’s too likely to take Pepper’s side.

There’s Steve, but he still takes any sort of above-average privileges as proof that he is The Alpha, and should therefore have his words taken as law. Even three days away from the anniversary of the first time they met, Steve is just as… old fashioned as he was back then. 

And, really, it’s nice, his old-fashioned-ness. It’s cute, almost hot (what? It’s not like he doesn’t notice anything), when it involves cigarettes on the roof of the tower and a box of real matches when lighting a fire and a newspaper that you can actually touch. It isn’t cute when he won’t let Tony near the matches, as though the inventor doesn’t cause an explosion for funsies at least once every other week. It isn’t cute when, on some level, he thinks Tony’s rightful place is beneath him, and it rankles Cap that Tony is so clearly above him, should anyone care to add it all up. Tony doesn’t, but Steve certainly does.

There's Bruce, but he's busy, and doesn't like coming anywhere just to sit. He'd rather do that in his bedroom. Then there’s Widow, but Tony will be damned if “Rushman” gets access to his lab. Not after that fucking report and especially with the Senate slobbering at the fucking mouth trying to wrest from him everything Iron Man. She doesn’t seem to have a designation, really, and it’s hard for Tony to trust her because he knows she’s doing it on purpose and she’s already fooled both himself and Pepper once before.

Thor, he supposes, he would not mind receiving an occasional visit from, except the man is as big as his voice and causes a lot of accidental problems. When Tony has fragile components out in the open, that becomes an issue. Explosions, after all, are only fun when you aren’t in the debris range. Besides, Thor is an alpha. The last time an alpha had access of the kind Barton is referring to, it ended very, very badly.

So that really does leave just Clint. Tony tries to come up with a single reason why he shouldn’t do this, other than that Clint is a beta, not an omega, but he can’t find any.

“J.”

“Master Stark.”

“If there’s food that needs to be brought down here, Clint’s welcome to do it. I guess he can visit.”

“Yes sir.”

“...let me know if that becomes a problem.”

“A problem of what kind?”

“Of any kind.”

“Yes sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and concrit are appreciated


	3. Clint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's heat is a few days early, and Clint helps him make his escape to a commune and keeps it quiet, besides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the explicit tag comes in, guys. This is also the M/M/F/F pairing comes in.

As it turns out, Tony has absolutely no reason to be worried. Clint does exactly as he said he would, and he likes to lie on Tony’s beat-up, oil stained couch and do whatever. He’s a nice presence- the prospect of having a living, breathing human close enough for comfort and far enough to not get in the way is a lovely one.

He likes it too much. It’s also how it lead him to question a couple things.

Clint lived for years as a beta in a carnival, fighting his way to the top as a crack shot who wasn’t afraid to do a fair few illegal things to get what he needs. Natasha lived for years as a Red Room operative who could change everything about herself at a moment’s notice. Clint and Natasha both work for SHIELD who, for the safety of their agents, boast an extremely advanced scent blocker program.

Clint doesn’t really act like a beta, except on occasion. Almost as if the behavior is an afterthought. As Tony is caught up in this line of thinking, his gut shifts, and a mild cramp blooms, dead center. He pulls out his phone.

 

**TS: Heads up: I think my pre-heat just started.**

 

**PP: Already? Aren’t you a couple days off?**

 

**TS: Yes.**

 

**PP: How do you want to do this?**

 

**TS: Stay where you are. I’ll deal with this one on my own. SI won’t be okay if both of us are gone.**

 

**PP: Wish I could be there.**

 

**TS: Don’t fret my favorite head of strawberry blonde hair. I’ll be fine. Just gonna slide on down to a commune or fly out to the Malibu house or something.**

 

Tony surreptitiously throws back eight ibuprofen with a bottle of water and gets on his phone. After three hours, during which a dozen small emergencies pop up and are dismissed, he has a bag packed and sitting on his bed, there’s a knock on his door. 

Clint is leaned up against the wall in the hallway, fiddling with his Starkphone.

“Clint.”

“Stark.”

“What is it?” Clint shrugs one shoulder, and Tony gets the distinct impression that he is nervous, though he doesn’t show any signs of it. Finally he offers a bottle of pain-killers, already half gone, and wow, Tony didn’t think Clint had access to meds this good. Even he finds them hard to get ahold of, and he’s Tony fucking Stark.

“Steve’s on the communal floor, trying to get JARVIS to tell him why the lab is closed down so the elevators won’t even travel that far.”

“Is he now?”

“I just thought you might like to know. Pretty sure you won’t make it to the garage without being waylaid by someone.”

“How did you know where I’m going?” Clint shrugs.

“I’ve worked with a lot of omegas in my day.” Tony lets it go. He doesn’t have the focus to dissect that sentence.

“Since you seem keen on not being a pain in the ass: what’s my best option?” Clint smirks, and Tony’s glad to see the expression. Whatever made Clint nervous (and it sure as shit isn’t the bottle of painkillers meant to last Tony through his pre-heat) has passed, and he’s back in his element as, with a gesture, he gains access to Tony’s room and gets them into the vents. 

An hour later, Tony is boarding an airplane, texting his last ‘I’m Okays’ and ‘Don’t Worry About Its’, and shutting off his phone.

 

…

 

“I wish I could stay here forever, you know?” he says, all dreamy and lax now that the worst of the cramps have passed and the meds are keeping away the rest. He’s naked, curled up under a comforter, head pillowed on the breast of a large woman.

“I know. It’s like… you think it’s normal, all the stress and the pills and the doctor visits and the sneaking around just to keep healthy… and then you step inside and get checked in and you realize that it can’t be. The max level of goodness in life can’t be just fending off alphas and trying not to go into heat too early because this fucking commune exists and no one cares if it isn’t comfortable to wear a bra here because nobody’s wearing a bra who doesn’t want to and no one’s got any underwear on and we’re all just waiting to get high on pheromones and fuck and I don’t want to leave either.” 

The omega, a blonde by the name of Lylah, curls closer to Tony and runs her calloused hand over Tony’s back. She’s evidently talked herself out, because she doesn’t say anymore. Tony nuzzles her close. He knows she likes the feel of his beard against her skin.  

Tony hears movement behind him, picks up the low hum of someone trying to announce themselves to a skittish omega, and then a warm, hairy chest settles against his back, and now there’s more hands to trace his sides and more hands to explore his scars and here, protected by the unity of omegas in need and NDAs signed before entry, he doesn’t mind.

“Like your scars,” the man says, and kisses the back of Tony’s neck. “I mean… I don’t like that you have scars. But I like your scars.” Tony just hums in his blissful, cuddled-up version of a laugh and stretches a bit to expose more skin. Apparently he’s sinking faster than the other two because the blonde rolls until Tony’s head is resting on the pillow and not on her breast. 

Then, she sits up and kisses the new-comer- a man with darker, tighter curls than Tony’s- like Rhodey’s curls, he realizes, then smiles about- before they turn their attention to Tony. They roll him over, and he sighs into the padded floor as they tug away the comforter and expose his bare body to the warm, gentle air.

He feels hands make a slow circuit of his back, and he hears the pop of a cap. It startles him, but he’s soothed back down into his headspace by a soft “shh” and fingers through his hair. Then the bigger, broader set of hands are there, rubbing over his back in its entirety before kneading his shoulders, working loose the knots on either side before pressing and releasing the tension in the middle. The hands move down, rubbing their way over his lats, a fully bearded face leaving kisses in his wake. 

Tony, voice gone high with his fading awareness, keens and lifts up his ass. Smaller hands press him back down, but rub over his thighs.

“Be patient, pretty baby. He is making his way lower.” Those broad, rough hands that Tony thinks he’s in love with tease out the tension in his lower back, the glide of it all so smooth and well handled that he sinks even lower into his headspace before those hands finally- finally- cross over and rise up onto the swell of his ass, cupping and squeezing his cheeks. Now the smaller hands fall away, allowing him to angle his hips up, a whine of pure need escaping his throat.

His heat is this close. The door opens. Distantly, he hears: “he down yet? I got another one who can’t really wait either.” He hears answers to the negative, more questions, then answers to the positive. There is someone else that Tony doesn’t fully process because those hands have pulled apart his cheeks. There’s the ghost of air over his hole as thumbs dip down into his crack and tease at the dampening entrance. 

They tease him, moving tantalizingly over where he wants them in and then pulling back to massage his actual ass. He lets out a wordless sound, all frustration and demand. A tongue licks him, making him push up onto his hands and knees and keen.

The tongue goes again, and again, sliding wet and easy across the furrows of his hole, and occasionally working past the ever-loosening ring of muscle. He fights the second set of hands again, wanting more and wanting it now. The mouth buried in his ass just keeps on licking though, and he can feel teeth graze and hear other voices around him and his cock is so fucking hard that, when a new, previously unknown hand reaches out and grasps him, Tony shouts and comes for the first time.

At some point, the blonde had disappeared, and he hears the distinct sounds of someone else being ate out, and not via the ass. As the dark skinned omega tips him over on his side to cuddle before the next wave hits, Tony watches in hazy content as the newest addition to their group- a cute brunette with a pixie nose and small, perky breasts pierced through each nipple- keens at the top of her lungs and comes as well.

It’s nothing to open his arms and accept the new comer. It’s nothing to close his eyes as their breathing syncs up, and her small breasts move against his rib cage in time to his own breathing. It’s nothing to drift away on a cloud of happiness, assured of his safety for the time being.

 

…

 

Wednesday evening at 8:45 pm, Tony Stark strolls in like he did not just spend the last six days fucking and getting fucked as all four omegas had their heat at the same time. His tinted glasses hide how tired he is, but not his good, if quiet mood, and even Steve knows better than to bother him now.

What doesn’t escape his notice, though, is the fact that Clint and Bruce seem to be the only ones undisturbed at Stark’s abandoning of his post for a full week. Steve is pouting, though he will never admit it. Unexpected absences are not thing he enjoys. Tony ignores him, though, and Natasha’s watchful gaze, and gestures with his eyes for the elevator. No words are said but it’s clear Clint and Bruce are invited down to the lab.

There is tea. And coffee. And poptarts. They sit on Tony’s beat up couch in silence for a while, enjoying their food.

“How was it?” Bruce finally says. Heretofore, Tony had kept his heats on the downlow by taking himself away before he even suspects preheat symptoms, so no one really noticed 

“How do you think a foursome was?” Clint’s eyebrows arch lightly.

“Oh, you whore,” he says, like he wants to go be a whore with Tony. Like he wants to tag along for the fun and the sex next heat. He says it like a compliment, and from any other beta, it wouldn’t be. That’s when it clicks.

“Damn right,” he says with a satisfied smirk. Bruce leans a little closer, oddly content at the return of the Tower’s owner. Omegas will always move to the strongest omega in the room. While that is undoubtedly, technically, Bruce, Tony owns the Tower, and he’s more versatile, so overall, he is the strongest, and he has been gone for a week.

Neither of them are really concerned about Barton’s presence. Not when Tony tugs Bruce down to lay against him, scent so faint it’s nearly untraceable. Not when Bruce nods off. Not when Clint watches with something like longing on his face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and concrit are welcome and wanted:)


	4. Discussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Clint have a heart to heart.

They’re alone, and Tony knows they won’t be disturbed because he was on a business trip to Taiwan and while he was there he got ahold of a statue that’s supposedly killed every one of its owners. Tony suspects it’s got some sort of radiation, so he’s given it to Bruce to go nuts with.

“So,” Tony says as he finishes the last of the soldering for the tiny circuit board he’s working on. He shuts down the machine and leads the delicate piece of hardware where it is for the time being. 

“So,” Clint answers, worried.

“I have a really wonderful ass question for you, and you’re not going to like it.” Clint’s face closes off, like he’s prepared for condemnation.

“How long have you been on the pill?”

“I’m not on the pill.”

“Yeah you are. I guessed a few weeks ago, but I wanted to confirm before I asked you about it.” Clint looks like he’s ready to bolt now, broad shoulders tensed even as he tries to stay relaxed against the couch where he was fiddling with his phone.

“How did you know?” Tony shrugs a shoulder.

“Intuition. Nosiness. Pretty good dose of curiosity.” Clint’s dark eyes slide the door then back.

“What… are you going to do?”

“Well, you’re part of the team, so I would like to know how long you’ve been on, when the last time you’ve been off it is, and whether or not we need to stage a month long assignment so you can do just that. Other than that: nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.” They’re quiet after that, with Clint struggling to decide if this conversation is over and Tony struggling not to end it for him and put the poor bastard out of their collective misery.

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Be,” Clint says with a pause before gesturing vaguely into the air, “you.” God, that was lame. The award for the Least Eloquent Fuck This Century goes to…

“You know my dad hated omegas? Loved my mom; she never had any bruises and shit, but I only remember her after she started with the ambien. She’d say ‘Tony, momma couldn’t sleep. I’m just going to take a quick nap’ and be out for the rest of the day, and it would only be nine in the morning.” Tony’s into the story, with hand motions and shit like he’s on fucking stage telling an anecdote about the best time he accidentally exploded his lab. Despite the subject matter, he’s got Clint entranced.

“Jesus.”

“Mary and Joseph. In any case, my dad didn’t like omegas, and he’d always say dumb shit like ‘you’re never gonna be anything but someone’s cash cow’. Not with your condition.”

“Condition.” The pit of dread (and dare he acknowledge the anger?) is growing in Clint’s stomach with every sentence.

“Like Lyme disease. Anyways, so one day, the day after I make the decision to stay in the city to be closer to my conveniently time-consuming summer project super-connected to my campus that all my professors wanted me to be at, I go visit this doctor, and the doctor’s like ‘yeah, I can help you out.’ Next time I saw my dad, my scent was flat as a board. He couldn’t smell shit.”

“What happened then?”

“Things got worse, because now I was weak for not being able to handle myself without pills and unnatural because he couldn’t get any info out of me.”

“Did he make you go off them?”

“No, because if he couldn’t smell fear he wasn’t doing anything wrong. But that’s not the point. The point is I was on ‘em for years, and then I got really fucking sick, and Obie acted like the media was out of their minds because Tony Stark was having his first heat in eight years and I needed to fix myself ASAP. I got so pissed over that I wouldn’t go back on them, no matter how much he said he was sorry. Then Afghanistan, and I guess I’d have to grow a huge pair just to get examined to the degree I need for scent blockers.” 

Somewhere between then and now Tony stopped grandstanding, and it’s just him looking at the middle distance, all sad and trying not to look it. But the spice of his scent is a little less warm- like the incense sometimes lit at funerals and not like cold nights and familiar hands and whiskey by the glass and laughter by the gallon.

“Seventeen years.”

“Longer than your employment at SHIELD.”

“Yeah.”

“Care to explain?” Tony doesn’t look up, giving Clint the privacy to feel whatever he’s feeling as the archer’s mind goes way back.

 

…

 

It’s raining hard, and there’s Barney, moving ahead and to the left of him. Clint is dead quiet, trailing behind him, ready to make a break for it the second anyone points a flashlight at the boys in their rubber animal masks.

Barney’s fifteen- old enough to get into trouble, young enough to get out of it in a few years. Clint is twelve. He gets caught tonight and he’s getting taken in by CPS or some dumb shit like that. 

Just like Barney said, the little store’s empty, the gas pumps unmanned, spots of dark oil on the slick concrete and the employee’s beat up truck the only sign of life. They don’t go close to the store windows and in the view of the camera. Instead, they circle the lot around to the back, where there are no lights to see them by. The camera goes down with a swing of Barney’s bat, the sharp, jarring noise hidden in a roll of thunder.

It’s nothing, after that, to get inside. It’s nothing to make their damp way from the back to the front, where Barney holds down the skinny, unprepared high schooler while Clint grabs up the money out of the drawer and shove it in his and Barney’s pockets. It’s nothing to knock that high schooler out. Clint chances a glance out of the window and sees another rusty-ass truck sitting there, the driver looking in. Witnessing. Clint nudges his brother. They make their escape.

Clint doesn’t freak out, even when they hear the sirens in the distance and run through muddy alleyways. They split up and leave the masks in different dumpsters- they’ll be able to buy more with what they got tonight- and make their separate ways home.

They don’t get caught. 

In the dirty little room Clint shares with his brother, they count out the money they gained tonight. With what they make from the carnival itself, they’ll be alright for long enough to get out of this blasted town. Plus, with Clint this close to being an actual performer, their income will kick up, and they won’t have to steal anymore. 

Barney will never see the stage, but Clint is a crack shot with a knife and acrobatic as well. They can use him. 

The next morning, Clint wakes up with an earache. It’s not the first time. The rain will do that. He drags himself out of bed and through his day, a miserable little lump of cold and head pain. All through practice with the other up-and-comers and later through his manning of the broom and sweeping the stands after the performance, Clint is shivering, his eyes a little too glazed, skin too hot.

He comes through it a little harder to hear than before.

Barney has to stick closer, if he wants Clint to stay alive. He hates that. A few months later, Clint goes down again, this time with heat. Barney doesn’t have to deal with that one. They leave him in the care of the bearded lady- the only omega big enough and mean enough and respected enough to protect him through it. Boys Clint’s age and boys Barney’s age are a little more savage than anyone is willing to ignore, even in the case of a brat with good aim.

No slick leaks out of his hole and coats his thighs. He doesn’t want sex. Instead cramps double him up, and he cries all the way through it. Eventually, when he’s at his least lucid, he tells the bearded lady that Barney hates him now because he has to have his older brother around. That Barney calls him useless. That the bruises he often has are from his older brother. 

After that, Clint is moved in with the bearded lady, and she keeps him safe enough at night. Barney is still around, but without the responsibility of watching his brother, he only hurts Clint in the way the others do- when they’re looking for a good laugh. 

Clint has another ear infection. Then one more. He can’t hear anything anymore.

After a year or two of this, Clint almost kills someone- another boy Barney’s age who had been following him all week. Just straight whips around and, in front of god and everybody, puts one of his throwing knives to his throat and leaves him with a scar he won’t soon forget. 

The kid refuses to leave it, though, and they wind up fighting to the death a few months later. After that they leave him alone. No one wants to die, and Clint is a real live murderer, now. It eats him up on the inside.

He has another painful, cramping heat. The bearded lady finally takes enough pity on him to give him something that tastes nasty, but gets rid of all his omega traits. Now he need only act like a beta.

At some point, the increasingly violent arguments that he and Barney had over money end with Barney fucking off somewhere after they both nearly kill each other. Clint doesn’t have another heat, after that.

 

…

 

“Ouch,” Tony murmurs, and, though Clint looks for signs of pity, he doesn’t find it.

“Tell me about it.”

“That happens when there’s no safe place to have a real heat- the good kind.”

“I know.”

“And you also know that eventually, you’re going to have to let your body reset itself.”

“Yes.”

“So what if we just disappeared you? I could go with you or find people who could do you right. It would just be for a month. Let the pills leave your system. Reset everything. Get back on them,” Tony offers, brain already whirring with ways to make that happen.

“I don’t know, Stark. Medical warned that if I ever stopped taking pills, I would need a full reevaluation.”

“Two months, then. Three tops.”

“Why are you trying so hard?”

“Because I don’t want that time when you went off your meds to be because they were incompatible with whatever they put you on for injuries and then you have a heat and a secret blown and you would be benched at the same time and that is just a terrible idea.” He and Tony sit in silence for a while.

“I… I think I want to tell Bruce. So he doesn’t freak out.”

“Yeah. Brucie-bear is good with the secrets.” And who would know that more than Tony?

“I didn’t peg you for this.” Tony looks up.

“For what?”

“For being this good at being an omega. I always thought you would be… I dunno. One of those hyper masculine kinds that do the hormone deal even though they don’t actually feel like an alpha, they just want to stop being treated like an omega.” Tony shrugs.

“Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome.” Clint gives him the side eye.

“You sure you aren’t just tryna fuck?” The sentence provokes a snort and breaks the somber, contemplative mood.

“Really Barton? Have a little faith. I am so much smoother than that.” Tony’s got a hand over his heart and a smirk on his face. He’s always fucking smirking.

“Yeah, but if Steve had his way I wouldn’t be on the pill at all and then you’d have a good, ready fuck three or four times a year.” Aaaaaand there goes the good mood, now.

“I’m not going to tell Steve.”

“Why not? You’re the Wonder Twins, aren’t you? Brains and brawn! Alpha and Omega, no mess, no stress! American dream and american ideal! A-”

“Jesus where are you getting these titles?” 

“The internet,” Clint says mysteriously. Tony laughs.

“Nah, dude. Your secret to tell, you know?” 

“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and concrit is appreciated.


	5. Business Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ten Rings are back, and they hit closer to home than Tony expected. Clint is conflicted.

Tony won’t be back in the tower for awhile. He and Pepper are holed up somewhere for a “Business Session”, which basically means there’s a lot of SI stuff that needs to be done in like no time and it requires all of Tony Stark’s considerable attention. So unless the world ends, he and SI’s CEO will be in a fancy-ass hotel running a gamut of fancy-ass meetings and just plain getting shit done.

So Clint has until then to decide whether or not he’s going to tell Bruce, or the pressure of just having someone know and near will make it all the harder. He practices his aim all damn day and still cannot calm his mind. It’s just Bruce. Bruce won’t care. He won’t. He really won’t.

Except… every time he goes to talk to him, Bruce just looks at him like he always does and Clint doesn’t think he’s ever been afraid of losing someone’s regular look before. As the only other omega on the team, if Bruce knows and rejects him, that will put tension on both himself and Tony, and if Tony has to choose, Clint knows he’s getting the boot. That’s how it always works. There’s someone better, and Clint gets the boot. 

So he sits there like he’s got no fucking courage and tries to remember that Bruce isn’t the type to cause a fucking problem over a secret because Bruce keeps all kinds of secrets and nothing is really working on this front.

 

…

 

There weren’t supposed to be any distractions, and Tony had every intention of being focused… but the Ten Rings is still alive and kicking and suddenly Tony’s entire chest hurts and the reactor casing is doing the thing where it complains about it’s placement and he can’t fucking breathe and then Pepper is there, her fingers pushing themselves into his hair.

“You’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it out,” she says, and it’s like just after Afghanistan and Obie, when Pepper was the only one who knew everything, and she had to put him back together because she’s the only one he trusted and Rhodey was away on tour. It takes a while, but eventually the reactor settles back into the comfort of an old friend and not the invasive shit it started out as.

“I guess we will,” Tony says, the spice in his scent turning from funeral-pyre-incense to good, rich food, expertly made by someone he loves. He still helps with SI. They still go to most meetings side by side, Tony still keeps up with the paperwork as well as he’s able, but it’s taking bit longer, and he’s researching nightly. With all the most important meetings over with, Tony returns to the Tower and throws himself into what looks like a lab binge.

Seven days later, Tony’s investigating has reached a fever pitch, though no one notices. Not even Pepper. She’s under the impression that he is, in fact, over the irrational part. He has to find the Ten Rings. Has to make sure they aren’t coming back. Has to make sure what started him won’t also finish him. The arc reactor casing feels too big, pushing against his rib cage and hurting his heart, even though it’s keeping him alive.

With the bulk of his SI duties taken care of, Pepper is leaving him to his other duties for now. He’s grateful. She’s busy. All he really wants to do is just go to sleep, but that’s not really how things work.

He’s in Malibu, at a party meant to raise funds for something or the other, and there’s another explosion that reeks of the Mandarin right outside the building. Tony races outside- gets there first, in fact, watch repulsor pulled down over his palm, Happy Hogan damn near dead in the wreckage of one of Tony’ cars.

The next few days are a dream, with Tony sitting at Happy’s bedside waiting for him to wake up. He runs a hand through his hair, ruining its perfect placement, again and again while Happy’s monitors and shit beep and beep and beep. Three days is how long it takes.

“Mr. Stark, as much as I like not sitting at your hospital bed, I like it even less when you sit at mine.” Happy’s voice and humor are both fucking dry as hell, so Tony gets him water and lets him drink before he leans forward and rests his fucked up hair ever so lightly against Happy’s shoulder. 

“I’m going to fix it Happy. I really am.” Happy has an actually neutral scent. Like, it isn’t scent blockers. He just smells like the room, and Tony likes that about him. When he was just back from Afghanistan, Happy was one of the few people who could be around Tony for more than five minutes without the omega freaking the fuck out. And now he’s here, in the hospital, because fucking Iron Man didn’t do his fucking job.

Happy wants to calm him down but he’s on some good-ass meds so he can’t stay awake and Tony really doesn’t want him too. So he smiles and breathes in deeply and keeps his scent under control for long enough for Happy to slip back under. 

Given that there were fake rumors that the two were at another hospital, it’s nothing to leave, assured that his favorite beta is going to live. He arrives at the Malibu house chugging an energy drink and has to sneak in through the underground entrance he uses for his suits.

He takes his time in the shower, and he’s extra careful with his reactor and with the razor he uses to bring his beard back to full Tony Stark glory. He moves especially slowly so as to further enjoy the coffee as it slips, sip by burning sip, down his throat. A lot of care and attention goes into his most subtle makeup yet. He takes a little bit of satisfaction at the fact that he ties his tie perfectly on the first try, the green eldritch knot stark (ha) and attention grabbing. Not an omega’s tie or knot, really, but it is certainly owned by the man who wears it. 

By the time he’s done, he looks like Tony Fucking Stark, Genius Playboy Billionaire Philanthropist, and not Tony Stark, omega who almost lost one of the few betas he trusts to have his back. Completely clean, and jacked up on a bigass Monster and an entire pot of coffee (and, wow, he’s the one that’s going to give himself a heart attack,  no scares necessary), he stands hidden by the front doors of the Malibu house.

He glances down at his pinky, a ring as dark as his black on black suit shining up at him like a promise, and like a statement. He can do this. He will do this. He is…

He is himself, and he doesn’t need anything else to grasp the handles of the front doors of the Malibu house and stroll down the long drive, enjoying the cool breeze blowing in off the water and the dropping temperatures of the waning Malibu day.

He walks right up to the fence and nods to the guard’s post. A couple of the people inside take positions up on Tony’s left and right. The gates open, and Tony smirks at the crowd and takes a step forward.

 

…

 

Clint is relaxed on Natasha’s bed, the news playing. The story switches from something about wildfire somewhere when Clint starts paying attention.

“Breaking news: billionaire and omega Tony has addressed the crowd of reporters outside his malibu home, issuing a challenge to the Mandarin.” dread builds up and spills over as they see Tony recite his address.

“More on this story as it develops.”

“Tasha, he’s gonna die.” His long time friend fixes him with a steady look, and Clint thinks that maybe she sees everything.

“Let’s go get him, then.” By the time they get near the Malibu house, all they can see is rubble and dust. After just over two weeks, Tony steps inside the Tower, dry eyed, his scent funeral-pyre spice and raw like metal ore. 

Bruce is the only one home, and he cannot remain distant when Tony is curled up on the couch Clint sits in most often, under the blanket Bruce likes to use. Ever so gently, he nudges Tony up until they’re arranged with his head on the scientist’s lap, the faint scent of petrichor coming off him more than it does the blanket.

Bruce takes his time, then, running his fingers gently through Tony’s hair, and the tensions of the last month release him one thought at a time. His fingers have upgraded to scratching gently at his scalp, the strands of his hair a little rougher than Tony normally keeps himself, his beard too ungroomed for the happy-esque ending they saw on TV.

It takes half an hour for anyone else to arrive. The second person to see him, whole and hale and broken despite that, is Natasha. She does not go over to Tony just yet, but instead detours to the kitchen. Bruce hears the microwave, and then she’s back, sliding something between Tony’s legs and his stomach. Then she pulls off the big black shit-kickers Tony’s got on. Those shoe are comfort shoes, she knows. When he’s dealing with heavy machinery and trying not to damage himself in the process, he wears them. He’s got them on now because there are things that have been hurting him.

Instead of the boots, Natasha takes his clean, socked feet in her hands and holds them on her lap to keep them from harm. Her barely there scent of gun oil under the suppressants is nice. Her innocuous texting controls the return of the rest of the team. Clint does not come in loudly, instead Bruce and Tony rearrange themselves so that Clint can lay out along Tony’s back, holding the heated rice bag against his stomach. 

She tells Steve not to come- that Tony might react badly to his presence. He may not trust Natasa any more than she does Steve, but Natasha is is well aware that Tony won’t like Steven’s much more problematic presence. Steve though, does not listen. He enters the room in a white t-shirt and khakis, and everyone can smell it when the anxiety shoots through the roof.

“Hey, Tones, it’s just me. I’m not going to hurt you, yeah? I just need you to look at me.” Tony doesn’t want to look. He wants to remain cocooned in this blanket, undisturbed, until everyone gets tired and goes away. But he’s too tired, too weak, too spent, too omega to not respond to the commands of a gentle alpha. His eyes peel open.

“Good man.” Tony shrinks further back.Clint lifts his head and opens his mouth to bare his teeth in a silent threat of a fight. Steve focuses on Tony. “Do you need anything else? Blink once if the answer is no, twice if it’s yes. I promise to go away if you answer me.” Tony manages one blink, then dips below the throw again.

Steve leaves, and it calms the whole team to smell their omega relaxing back into their protective presence again. The only threat Tony feels now doesn’t come back, except to deliver food and drinks. He doesn’t even look at Tony after that first time, but hands his covered cup to Bruce to deliver at the doctor’s discretion.

That whole weekend, the team doesn’t do anything but take care of Tony Stark, and he’s eternally grateful that no one pushes him to tell them why he’s so upset. They guess though. They guess because he lives with two superspies, a genius, and a man out of time. It doesn't take much to figure out that his and Pepper’s problems did not end with the arrest of Aldrich Killian.


	6. Being Late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce has his heat. Clint makes a decision

Clint’s been taking up all Tony’s time, his big, thick hands always gesturing in a joke. Or he’s pointing at a hologram of some work he’s doing in the lab, asking for an explanation. He takes up all Tony’s time. He makes it hard for the smaller man to think for a whole week.

And Bruce is there, too, trying to mash physics and radiation and engineering and programming together into one big super project. They spend hours, sometimes on the couch, other times on their backs on the floor of the lab, just throwing out ideas.

Food mysteriously appears, all freshly cooked and fucking delicious, and Tony makes it a point to text Natasha thank you. More than a year after the Rushman incident, and the two are finally settling into each other. Steve is nowhere to be found, and Tony is more than grateful.

It takes Tony seven days to even realize what they’re doing with the companionship and the food. By then, he smells less like burned metal and a funeral pyre and more like a calm, confident omega. They’re careful with him, really. Enough to distract, but not enough to exhaust. Not enough to make him miss the big issue.

“I want to sleep.” Tony announces, rolling to his feet. Bruce gets up with him, and Tony offers a hand to Clint.

“Okay. Want us to check in…?” Tony cock one eyebrow at Bruce, but the other genius just looks at him, all questioning and confused.

“Bruce. Tell me you know.”

“Know what?”

“Your scent is getting stronger. You’re about to hit preheat.” There’s so much quiet in the lab right then it’s suffocating, and Tony wonders if he’s done something wrong. It isn’t like Bruce hasn’t realized what Clint is- the explanation for why he found it okay to lay ass to crotch with Tony Fucking Stark cleared that right up- so he can’t be in trouble for giving away a secret. So what’s the deal?

“Stark, I think you synched with Bruce,” Clint notes, and that’s when it hits Tony. The petrichor is easier to pick out, now. He knows a little more instinctually what Bruce needs, emotional wise. It looks like Bruce didn’t even know where his body was headed before Tony pointed it out, which means he can smell things a little more acutely, too.

“Well, that’s all nice and good and shit, but it’s naptime.” And that’s the last of that conversation.

The three of them wind up on Bruce’s massive, reinforced, hulk-sized bed. Clothes slide off and sit in a folded stack on a nice and comfy chair, and the three omegas slide into Bruce’s bed, ready for the long, sleep-and-cuddle filled sabbatical.

“Last time this happened… I was alone,” Bruce mumbles, all warm and nice in a way he doesn’t remember being in a very long time. He wonders what it would be like with Tony when the genius is in heat. So far, no one has seen that side of him yet. The four he’s had in their acquaintance he’s always just disappeared himself for long enough to take care of it. It would probably be nice.

“Yeah?” Bruce nods, eyes sliding shut to fully appreciate how Barton seems to know exactly what he’s doing with Bruce’s messy curls.

“I was travelling. Packing up and moving… I was stuck out there, in heat-cramps, for three days.”

“Then what happened?”

“The hulk said enough, and I lost the rest of my heat to the other guy. I still remember it all, unfortunately, but it’s all easier when he takes control.”

“Well if he wants to come out and get in on the love fest, let it happen. Both of you have had shitty heats and I intend to reconcile that. “ It’s been a year, and this is the first time Tony has ever even heard of Bruce’s heat. He must have been in a bad spot, for his body to say “fuck that shit” for an entire year.

Tony wants to take Bruce’s face in his hands and tell him he won’t ever be stuck in bumfuck nowhere again. Not if he has anything to say about. But he doesn’t say that. Anytime he thinks he’s found an omega to stay with him, he manages to fuck it up. So instead he just traces patterns over Bruce’s stomach, waiting for the doctor to drop off.

 

…

 

They’re three days in, and something’s wrong. The pre-heat cramps are getting stronger the longer he lays with them, not weaker. Tony tries everything he can- massages, soft kisses, medication, a blow job (that had been fun. Or, it would have been if he wasn’t fucking worried)- but nothing is stopping the cramps. They just keep ramping up.

Bruce is on his back now, his underwear a different pair than what he started out with (he always feels better when he’s got clean clothes). His nostrils are flared wide and his eyes are on the ceiling. Clint is not here. He was called away on mission, and in order to keep up his facade, he had to go. The sheen on his eyeballs is glassy, and he can’t stop the little whimper that pushes its way out of his chest.

He rolls on his side, and Tony just gets a little more distressed when he throws off the blanket.

“I don’t… talk to me Bruce. I don’t know what’s going on with you.” But Bruce doesn’t answer, too far down and in too much pain to think clearly.

“Brucie-bear…” Tony says softly, and he hates how it’s all dirt, no water in Bruce’s scent. The other scientist has already thrown Tony’s hands off once, but he can’t help but rest a palm on one calf. He sees those squeezed-shut eyes flash open and green for a moment, and then close again.

“Oh… are you holding back the Hulk?” Bruce doesn’t answer. Tony grabs at Bruce’s underwear and pulls it down off his legs before he comes back to awareness, then moves to the head of the bed.

He slides a shaking hand into his friend and first-time lover’s hair, scratching lightly. His eyes open one more time, then fall shut again. Tony keeps massaging his scalp, getting Bruce used to his touch, getting him to drop his guard.

He leans forward, mouth next to his ear, and whispers:

“Come on out, love. It’s alright now. I don’t intend to run away from you.” Nothing. “You know, the longer you let him drag this out, the more pain he’s going to be in. Let me see you, Hulk. I know you’re there.” Then Bruce is transforming, body growing bigger and heavier and greener until it’s the Hulk lying on his side and not the frumpy scientist of a moment ago.

The scent of omega is far stronger now, and Tony moves closer to lay a hand on his big friends cheek and presses a kiss into his forehead.

“You know I meant it when I said you  were the greatest. And when I told Bruce I admired you. And when I said it was totally okay for you to make an appearance if at any point you felt inclined to come out.” The Hulk opens his eyes, then wraps an arm around Tony.

“Shut up, Tinman.”

When Clint comes back, he crawls in bed with a giant green man and his tiny bedmate, and listens to what Tony has to say. He looks up at where the Hulk is resting and gives him a little smile.

“You know, I think I want this.”

“Want it how?”

“Synching. Heats with you two. This.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds great. Let’s just get our favorite giant through this, and we’ll talk about how this is going to go down.”

Clint gives a little loose, happy smile, gives the Hulk one last pat, and lays his head back down. The three alternately sleep when the hulk his here and fuck Bruce when he’s not through the rest of the week.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would really love to know what you guys think:). As always, I don't know how to keep track of dates and I am late as fuck, so this next update will be on the sixth, not the seventh


	7. Late Nights, Bar Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony goes for some stress relief. Steve is horrified. Natasha mediates. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO I'M SORRY FOR THOSE WHO SUBSCRIBED BUT THIS IS NOT AN UPDATE. If you've read the last chapter already, you'll know that I accidentally copied chapter seven along with chapter six. Since most of you who are going to read this within the week have already read, it I'm just going to correct the mistake, and post chapter eight on the sixth. I love you all and I'm sorry about the confusion.

Tony’s breathing too heavily, mind too gone to calm himself down or hear Jarvis. After a while, though, his AI’s voice breaks through his thoughts.

“Come, sir. In and out. The date is October the thirteenth, the time is 6:29 pm, and you’re in your penthouse. You’re currently working on a miniaturized repulsor that could strap to the back of your calves as an anti-kidnapping measure, as well as the weak points of the latest SI body armor. Tomorrow, you have a meeting at 9 a.m. with the board of investors and a 1 o’clock meeting with Ms. Potts. Currently Doctor Banner is-”

“Hey. Hey, I’m here, Jarvis.”

“Good to have you back, sir. A shower may do you good at this point.” So Tony pulls himself up out of bed and steps into the shower. He turns his back and tries not to let the water pour down over the arc reactor. He needs to go out. Get something out of his system. He scrubs down with the soap and shampoos his hair. After about five minutes of just enjoying the heat, he turns and uses the sponge to get the suds off his chest and neck before rinsing the rest.

Next up is his beard, which has just barely started to lose its shape. It’s technically fine, but hey, when you’re going out to do what he intends to do, ya gotta go dressed to impressed. A little makeup, a little hairstyling, a little deodorant later and he’s done with the bathroom. He can feel it now, that buzzing, zapping tension that he’s come to appreciate as anticipation, running through his veins. It’s better than any other feeling that buzzes and zaps.

Clothes clothes clothes…. Clothes. He wriggles his way into a pair of bright blue elastic boyshorts and a pair of dark jeans. They aren’t skinny but they do fit really nicely. He tucks a dark purple shirt that shows off the fact that his arms are actually more muscular than people think. A belt, pair of big, black shit kickers, a watch, and a black band on his pinky and another on his middle finger and he’s ready.

“Sir. May I suggest you go see Doctor Banner instead?”

“What’s he doing?”

“He is experimenting in his lab right now.”

“Nah,” Tony says as he grabs his go bag by the strap and presses the button for his private garage. In truth, he knows that Banner can and will give him what he needs, but he doesn’t want to tell him why he needs this right now. He’s supposed to be the strongest omega, not the weakling.

“He would not hold it against you, sir,” Jarvis says gently. The elevator doors open.

“You don’t know that and I don’t care.” Then Tony is bouncing to one of his cars and zooming into traffic.

 

…

 

The club is dark, the lights strobing, and somehow, Tony has gone and gotten himself coated in rainbow glitter. By the time he finds the one he’s going home with, he’s already a little tipsy, shirt all untucked and distracted from the state of his sleep schedule for a whole two hours. The other one’s got a full beard, nothing stylized but definitely cared for. His teeth are bright and neon in the non-light, and he dances well. Well enough, in fact, that Tony forgets all about drinking.

He wants to get fucked right now, but decides he’s going to drag it out. Play the game. Upstairs, there’s men and women playing pool on one half of the room and cards on the other. Together, he and his new favorite stranger rack, then Tony breaks, hand poised elegantly against the green baize.

He knew there was a reason he chose these jeans. They play three games and bet twice. Tony walks away ten dollars and a one night stand richer.

In the morning, at around seven, he wanders back into the tower, thighs and ass a little red still from the beard, a bit of a twinge in his lower back from last night. Omegas. Gotta love ‘em.

Surprisingly enough, the common room is occupied. Clint is laid out on one couch. He hasn’t bothered to shave, so his beard is full and unkempt. Tony likes it. The archer looks up from his plate of bacon and coffee.

“Did you go and get fucked last night?”

“Yeah,” Tony says with an eyebrow quirk and a saunter. Silently, the other man taps his fist against his, and doesn’t say anything else. Steve passes through the kitchen on the way back from his morning run and immediately reels back.

“Tony!”

“Issue, Rogers?” The inventor drawls, pouring coffee from the pot Clint made and putting eggs on to boil.

“You… have you been out all night?”

“Yep.” He’d stopped all that for a while, of course. Between the unpredictability of his nightmares and the widespread rash of super-powered crimes, Iron Man had been either needed or exhausted, not leaving much room for random men with deliciously scratchy beard. Tony supposes that means he can’t really blame Steve, since the one night stands he did manage to engage in have never been at the Tower, and he hadn’t really stopped at the common floor either.

“That’s…”

“Whaaat is it now, Steve?” He really doesn’t want to hear this, but he knows that Captain Not Knowing Shit is going to push until he says it.

“It’s improper.”

“Moreso than a fraction. Now move.” Tony says. Steve is standing between him and a barstool, and it’s already going to be a challenge to sit.

“Look, we’ve talked about this. You’re Iron Man now. You can’t just run off and fuck whoever-”

“I’ve been Iron Man, and I have been fucking random people, and I have been enjoying it. You go out and get fucked one good time, Boy Scout, and then you can maybe talk from a more informed position.”

“Well now you’re part of the team and after Pepper I really don’t think you should just screw whoever,” Steve finishes, and his eyes are so big and blue and earnest that Tony almost throws up.

“The thing with Pepper is over and done with, and, again, I’ve been doing this, and, again, you can’t make me stop.” Tony guesses that one was the wrongest thing to say, because it gets Steve’s hackles up, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“I can bench you.”

“Can you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay lemme kick it to you very simply, k? You bench me, and you’re benching me. All my designing for the team? Poof. Benched. All my fighting in the field? Benched. All my input on everything you deign to ask me about? Poof. Benched. You aren’t going to bench me because I let another omega fuck me in the ass last night,” he gets a viscious sense of satisfaction at Steve’s cringe, “because you can’t afford to lose me. There’s no one to take my place.”

“That hasn’t stopped me from-”

“Lay off, cap. If it were Thor, you wouldn’t say a fucking word,” Clint says. He refills his mug and sits next to Tony. “Besides. Everyone needs a little stress relief. So what if sex is his?” There’s something sharp and challenging in Clint’s tone, and Tony can’t help the smirk as Steve beats a verbal retreat.

“I just want him to be safe.”

“Him is right here, and you just need to apply that when in battle. Not when I’m trying to get some fucking coffee and my ass still hurts,” Tony butts in. With another half smirk, he slides off the stool and and into the elevator, feeling something warm in his chest, and it isn’t the arc reactor.

Of all the people he didn’t think he’d wind up friends with, Clint Barton is way up there. Tony wonders if he meant that shit about going off his scent blockers for longer than a month. It would be awesome to be synched with someone who doesn’t spend all their time in the lab.

 

…

 

“In the entire time I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him come in like that,” Steve says as he gets into the steady one-two rhythm of the speed bag. Tasha shrugs as she attacks a heavy bag.

“And how well do you know him?”

“We’ve been here a year.”

“On paper. We’ve been here a year on paper. But you and me and Clint are all still attached to SHIELD. By my estimate, we’ve each been here for an average of four months. He has a heat every three months, plus when he travels for his work, cutting down the time we’ve spent around him down to about two and a half months. Then there’s the fact that you make him anxious, meaning he’s likely to avoid you, anyways. You just haven’t known him long enough for this to count as keeping a secret.”

“I just don’t like it when my teammates don’t tell me things.”

“As I’m sure you remember insisting on, Stark isn’t a team member. He’s a consultant, and he is not required to tell you anything. Besides, his higher profile habits are all over the magazines and news. It’s hardly his fault you were unaware of his most notorious habit.” Steve doesn’t have anything to say to that.

“When did you start liking him?” Natasha shrugs a shoulder. It was probably around the time she realized that Clint had stopped thinking of the Tower like he thought about a good dream- lovely, but transient; able to fade at any moment, and bound to do so all to soon.

It was probably about the time when she realized that Tony Stark may not be Recommended, but he always does the best with what he has. Or something like that. She considers her year-end report, in which she’ll be required to evaluate everything going on. She wonders what she’s going to say on it.

“I don’t like him,” she lies, remembering the feel of two feet in her lap and Clint all laid out behind him, “but you are the leader, and you are clueless.”

“Oh,” Steve says, and Natasha knows she’s hurt his pride. He’s got to get it, though. After that, it’s quiet in the gym, with the exception of rhythmic breathing and punching. It will be alright, Natasha thinks. Smelling all that anxiety from Tony right after Pepper had left had been a bit of a wakeup call. Steve was this close to getting it.


	8. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony can't sleep, Bruce is a good friend, Clint goes off his meds, and Steve is bothered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all may be wondering how this update manages to be late when I set a fucking reminder. I'm wondering that too. Regardless, here it is, and the next one wil be out on time. Hopefully. Probably. Just pray for me.

Tony didn’t used to be scared of the dark. He didn’t used to be afraid of closing his eyes to the world because he was safe in the knowledge that the greatest danger came from girls who wanted to maybe pass on the condom. But then he flew into the wormhole and he saw more dark than he ever thought possible. 

He doesn’t think the dark is so innocent anymore. It helps sleeping with a light on (no, he doesn’t use a nightlight. Of course not. The fuck do you think he is?), but it’s best when he sleeps with someone else.

Steve and Natasha and Clint got pulled in by SHIELD yesterday, leaving Tony with Bruce. He slides out of bed, pajamas whispering against each other as he drags a blanket off the bed and with him into the elevator. It’s only eleven, but he can’t sleep, and he just got out of a lab binge, and he’s about to die of exhaustion. 

But hey, he has three new suits, so fuck it, right?

Bruce is reading, and he doesn’t say anything when Tony demands they have a sleep over. All he does is relocate to the bed and turns on the lamp. Eventually, he turns off the lamp and slides down to tuck Tony close. One broad hand runs up and down Tony’s back.

“Feeling better?”

“Tired.”

“Okay.” They’re quiet for a bit.

“You think Clint’s really gonna go off his scent blockers?” Tony whispers after a while, eyes sliding closed when Bruce slides his hand high enough to weave fingers into his hair.

“You know any time I hear people talking about you they always act like you don’t know shit about other omegas or packs and you don’t care to learn?” Bruce whispers back

“Yeah. That’s my reputation.”

“It’s wrong. I think that if anyone could get a certified SHIELD agent to go off his meds, it would be you.”

“I get worried, though. It’s not for everyone. It took years for it to be for me.” The hand keeps sliding, callouses dragging rather nicely over bare skin.

“What happened?” Tony shrugs.

“When I was little my dad was a mean drunk and he could smell that I was scared so I put a stop to it. So then I’m in like my late twenties and I know what I’m doing and I was forced off them- medical complications- and then I just stopped one day and it’s like: why are you still like this? The fucker’s dead. Been dead for ten years. Why are you still fucking hiding? Obadiah? He don’t know shit. There’s more to it than that, but the rest is history.” Bruce tugs him a little closer, like Howard’s ghost could come back and hurt him even as he lays in Brucie-bear’s bed and acts like he’s not there because he finds it hard to sleep on his own.

“Sorry,” Bruce says, and Tony doesn’t bother to tell him there’s nothing to be sorry about. Sometimes it doesn’t matter.

“Yeah.”

“I think you have his back. And it’s not like he can’t use some temporary stuff,” Bruce says after a while, when Tony’s calming down just enough to sleep. 

“Yeah I guess.”

 

…

 

Clint has been cleared by medical to go off his long-term scent blockers, and they had a very, very long list of all the things he should be aware of. He brings it to Tony.

“A 90% chance of an extended dry heat.” Tony shrugs one shoulder. 

“Had three of them. Eight days a piece, a month apart from each other.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“How did you even get through it?”

“The first time I didn’t know what was happening. My literal genius ass never actually went to a doctor. I just stopped taking my pills. The second time I called Rhodey, who sent a couple of his omega friends over, and they helped me through it. The third time I bucked up and went to a commune. That one wasn’t too bad.”

“Then what happened?”

“A week after that I had a real heat. Best time of my life,” Tony says with a laugh. Clint smiles a bit too. The archer blinks up at the ceiling and shifts his head. Tony’s bed is so nice he could fall asleep right here, at one in the afternoon.

“Okay… increased possibility of delayed coagulation.”

“That’s not good, Mr. I-like-getting-shot.” Clint got clipped by a bullet on his calf, and the limb is currently wrapped in clean, white bandages.

“For the record, I do not like getting shot. I just happen to be accident prone.”

“Ah yes. The way I am also accident prone.”

“You’re accident prone?”

“Gave myself a mild concussion when I was first testing out the iron man armor.”

“Dork.”

“Idiot.” They laugh a little bit, and Clint lifts up the list again.

“Various heart problems.” Tony gives a gasp and a little wriggle.

“We’ll be twinsies!”

“Two accident prone, heart-condition having omegas. Oh joy.” Tony rolls onto his stomach and sticks his face into Clint’s line of view.

“Well if we’re twinsies, we can fuck.” Clint grins.

“Yeah, we can.”

“Hey hey hey… keep the beard.” Tony rolls back onto his back.

“You like it?”

“Yeah. That one night stand I had a few weeks ago? Dude had a three inch beard. Shit was thicker than fucking mud. Well groomed, beautiful ass reddish beard.” Clint raises his eyebrows.

“You have a thing for beards?”

“For now. A year ago I had a thing for fingers. Well,” Tony corrects with a little swirl of his own hands, “I always have a thing for fingers, but that’s beside the point.”

“You’re nasty.”

“I’m adorable.”

“Egotistical havin’-ass toddler.”

“You love it,” Tony says with a smirk because it’s true.

“How are we going to do this, anyways?” Clint asks with a somewhat more dubious look at the list.

“Like I said: we’ll disappear you. Let the shit run it’s course, and then just go from there.”

“Yeah,” Clint says with a sniff at another system- dizziness- and skips back up to where he left off.  “Sounds good.”

 

…

 

They go to the Malibu property. The first morning, Clint has to pause. He hadn’t even thought about not bringing the little red and pink prescription pills with him. He hadn’t even remembered that the goal of leaving was to not take them, and he had slipped them into his bag anyways. Now, he’s standing at the sink of the guest bathroom, two seconds away from a routine that he’s been keeping in different forms for the last fifteen years. He tips the pill into the toilet and goes about his day.

Tony mostly does SI business and works in the lab, and Clint keeps up with his exercise and does a lot of shit he doesn’t have time to do most of the year. Once, Coulson comes out to see him, check in and see if he’s doing alright. But with Clint slowly falling asleep in the afternoon sun, a book open on his lap, and Tony about six hours away from finishing another Iron Man suit, there isn’t much to ask. The answer is obvious: yes, Clint is sure, and yes, he’s going to be alright. 

That being said, it takes three weeks for his body to recognize that hello, there are no more pills. The heat is long and painful, and he lays naked in bed with the sweats and the shivers and cramps like he’s been stabbed and the crack of his ass is as dry as a bone. Tony is there, though, jabbering through it in the most helpful way he can. Bruce comes to stay one day in. Clint kind of smiles at one point, because everything around him smells more alive now, especially Tony, with his scent all metal and spice, and he forgot what it’s like to be privy to that information.

This happens, as Tony predicted, twice, and then Clint has a real heat that he doesn’t remember but he wakes up feeling so satisfied and well-fucked that he thinks he wants to do it again. Tony’s awake, looking very well pleased, and he’s rubbing a hand across Clint’s shoulders and down his back as Bruce dozes on the other side of him

“Let’s get you into a shower, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Clint agrees. God, he just wants another nap but he can climb to his feet and NOPE HE IS SO NOT GETTING IN THE SHOWER.

“Bath then?” Clint nods. Bruce wakes up to help Clint limp his way into the bathroom.

“Bath.”

 

…

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asks, all agitated and unsure again. He’s always unsure when it comes to Tony Stark.

“Because it wasn’t my place to tell.” Tony says with a shrug.

“We’re supposed to be working on this team together.”

“What makes you think that? I’m a consultant, remember? Team dynamics are your deal.” He’s hoping that the sip of coffee from his iron man mug is dismissive enough. Evidently it’s not.

“Maybe on paper, Tony, but you and I both know that isn’t how it works in practice.”

“Yeah, and I’m telling you that it might not work like that in practice, but it’s your job to make sure it does. Get mad if you want to, but remember that people don’t tell you things because you don’t inspire confidence. You’re a big fat reminder of everything everyone thinks is wrong with me, and you can’t really blame Clint for not wanting to jump in line for the next Rogers Lecture.”

“Well it’s not like you help on that front.”

“It’s not my job to help you talk to your own damn team. It’s not my job to put the friendship I have with Clint below your weakness as a leader. You want Clint to tell you shit like this, you gotta work it out with him.” Piece said, Tony takes another good, satisfying sip of coffee.

Steve is getting better at dealing with omegas, he knows, and he knows he shouldn’t be such an asshole, but it’s like he thinks that Tony is supposed to just report and fuck off. The alpha is slow to adapt and quick to fall back on old ways, and it’s taking serious time to get past that.


	9. Sights and Smells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint takes his final field test.

Clint completely forgot about how much of a bitch it is to actually be an omega. He doesn't even act like an omega and people see that and it makes him stand out which makes him nervous and he wishes he had never evereverever thought about going off his scent blockers and- 

“At ease, Agent,” Phil says quietly into his ear piece. Well, really, it’s his hearing aid, but it’s the special ones he uses for missions.

“Hmm,” Clint says as he keeps walking. He’s got this. He’s this close to being field ready. He just has to pass this test first. It’s been a year since they gave him a real mission. Most of what he’s been doing, if he’s done anything at all, has been low-risk stake-outs that take for fucking ever and test his fucking patience. As an omega off scent blockers, though, he cannot afford to have the same temper, because if he did everyone would smell it.

He’s strolling, enjoying the late september afternoon. His arms are all wrapped up in a hoodie under a leather jacket, and his eyes are hidden by a pair of aviators. He’s just a pedestrian. They’re in New Hampshire, and Clint is nondescriptly following a man in his late forties. He’s a couple days away from a shower, this man, and he’s been identified as Mathew Lionel. 

His phone rings.

“Talk to me,” he says, voice a little softer than he would normally be. A little more omega. He listens for a moment and then:

“Well I’m just a late person in general.” He knows Lionel is watching him without ever turning around. Knows he’s picked up the scent of omega and he’s considering going for him. Clint presses the phone a bit harder to his ear.

“No. You so did not tell me that. I would have remembered that. Remember? When you were telling me what to get I was writing shit down? Well I remember. I still have the list. Cherries are so not on the list,” Clint argues. He’s not really arguing to himself. On the other end of the line is some desk operative at SHIELD whose been paired with Clint for this assignment. She’s arguing back, and they sound domestic enough that Clint wonders if this is what a real alpha is supposed to be like.

“Well isn’t there a supermarket or some shit near the house?” he pulls the phone away from his ear, checks the time and starts walking faster.

“WelI can’t get it now. Got an appointment in like five minutes. Yes. Yes I’m feeling fine. You don’t need to be sick to go to the doctor’s. It’s called a check up. Yes. No.the store should have them. If they don’t just text me and I’ll get ‘em on my way home. K. Yeah. Love you. Bye.” Clint shoves his hands into his pockets and walks faster.

“Good job, Agent.” He steps into a building, ostensibly a family care clinic, and fills out the paper for his check up.

An hour later, he stumbles out of the building, irritated and unmoored by all the prodding from his appointment, mind still on the mission. The guy is there, and Clint is “not” paying attention, turning instead to walk back towards the subway. He really doesn’t notice the guy when they both buy tickets for the same place. He really doesn’t pay any attention to his brand new fan when Clint gets off and wanders into the supermarket, after cherries. He lets himself get distracted; play the part of a domestic omega.

A little snickers bar is bought with the jar.

He honestly, truly does not notice when he’s bumped into by a “stranger” who looks pretty good for a forty six year old white dude. 

“Sorry, sir!” Clint says, his words flowing a little faster, the word “sir” slipping out easily enough, the twang in his voice giving away his “southern” roots.

“Hey, man, it’s okay,” the alpha says. He offers a hand.

“Mathew.”

“Clark.” and Clint lets his face get a little worried, like all good little omegas do when meeting a larger, stronger-looking alpha alone via accident. Sometimes alphas go off when they think they have the right.

“It’s a pleasure,” Mathew says, and his hand is still there, so Clint takes it, letting that face of his melt into something a little softer then-

“Oh, shoot, I’m late. Listen, Mr...Mathew. I gotta go.” He holds up the grocery bag like it’s an explanation.

“Just making a quick run. See ya!” and Clint’s moving around him like he’s a man late for dinner. An omega late for dinner. Someone who doesn’t know. The man follows him, watching how Clint is instinctively checking and rechecking his phone. How he stops for a second, indecision warring through him, then darts down an alley. He can get back faster like this…

The man follows him, and Clint has stopped on a much less populated street, and he’s not sure where he’s at, and he’s got these cherries and he’s so nervous and suddenly Mathew is back, doing the alpha thing of getting what he wants when he wants to, and Clint isn’t sure he can stand up to that like this, when their pheromones are mixing. Mathew’s are saying  _ kneel _ and Clint’s are saying  _ bite me, bitch, _ and that’s the wrong signal. He was supposed to go with pure distress, but it’s too late now, because he’s dragging Mathew back into the alley and swinging the grocery bag with cherries in it hard enough to break the glass and cut through the flimsy plastic.

Later, when he’s back at base, the debrief is done for all of ten minutes when he’s called to Coulson’s office and informed that his file would be marked Field Ready. He’s dancing in his head as he works to keep his scent under control all the way to the mess hall to grab an early afternoon snack.

Laura sits with him, and they eat together and talk about random shit. He gets her number, and they text memes to each other and giggle like toddlers. When he finally makes it back to the tower, the time reads nine pm, and Tony is there and he looks so happy that Clint is finally field ready, and he can feel their pheromones meeting and sliding together in a way that is so much nicer and comforting than Mathew Lionel’s had. 

Steve is there too, congratulating him, looking a little lost at the smells in the room, but Clint thinks it won’t be too long before his own scents mix with theirs’. Widow will be back from her mission next week, and they’ll have a slumber party and he’ll bitch about how much this all sucks and they’ll be really happy together. He looks around and wonders how they became an Avengers family. A family with different members working on different issues, yes, but a family all the same.

He smiles- the cocky, half-cocked, crooked one, and basks in the fact that he did it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little shorter this time. Let me know what you think:)


	10. Hell and High Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets his life on track, just in time for another shit show.

Pepper has reentered Tony’s life. Well, she never left it, really, but she had withdrawn to run things from Malibu while Tony stayed in New York to oversee R&D. But now she’s back! Their agreement to keep distant from each other for at least one year had turned into a year and three months because it’s easier to sit and wait in anticipation like they’ve BEEN doing then invite total rejection so! A year and three months. It’s something simple. Something they’ve done  thousand times.

One charity ball: check. 

One dashing set of not matching but definitely complementary outfits: check.

One day of self care done separately from each other so no influx of exasperation can ruin the evening: check.

One genius not being able to handle this at all: check.

Tony sits on the edge of his bed, back curled out over his thighs, staring at his suit. He really should just put the fucking thing on and get over it, but he can’t. He just… he’s not sure he can do this. He’s not sure he can walk out with Pepper on his arm AND a smile on his face. He’s not sure if he can do the cameras and her gaze. 

Maybe they shouldn’t have started with a charity ball. Yes, it had seemed like a good idea at the time- as something that Tony’d been born into and Pepper had certainly acclimatized to exceptionally well, a charity ball had an alternate agenda separate from themselves that they would need to work towards, taking off some of the intensely painful pressure of just seeing each other again. The cameras and the schmoozing and the small amount of alcohol Tony always consumed at these things are supposed to give him structure; a backbone of familiarity and responsibility to fall back on when it all got to be too much. He never flips in front of a camera. Not without an ulterior motive, anyways.

But now it seems like even this is too much. Like maybe a year should be extended to two or forever, always with that hope in the distance, but never actually requiring a certain someone to fucking grow a pair and-

“Hey, Tones, talk to me,” someone says, and Tony looks up to realize that both Clint and Bruce have entered the room and smelled all the fucking anxiety and Tony can’t hide it so he just nods to his absolutely fabulous outfit and says:

“Pepper and I are going to a charity ball.” That seems to tell them what they need to know, because they don’t really waste anytime tugging him back onto the pillows and laying down beside him. Their arms thread over his stomach, and Tony feels insanely grateful that he wasn’t really the only omega on the team, even though that’s what he’d gone in believing. According to the files, Hulk was an alpha, but the files were incorrect.

“You don’t have to go,” Clint says, hand rubbing up and down Tony’s stomach.

“People are depending on me.” and Bruce gets that a little too well, remembering that time in India when he’d run after a little girl and got his ass exposed. He meets Clint’s eyes over Tony’s chest.

“You don’t have to go alone.”

“You’d go with me? I know it isn’t your thing.” He’s talking to both of them now.

“I don’t want any pictures, but I can slide in without having my face plastered all over the news,” Clint says.

“I need more exposure anyways,” Bruce offers. It’s all so nonchalant… so easy to accept their help because they make it feel like it’s not really accepting help and more like accepting an invitation to turn a bad time into a good one at the cost of no one.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.” then he’s getting kisses to either cheek and Clint and Bruce are bouncing off (walking sedately, in the latter’s case) to go get ready. Tony looks at the suit again. He thinks maybe he can do this.

 

…

 

Tony thinks he’s in heaven. With another heat successfully behind him, along with one of Clint’s last month(Bruce’s was a few months ago, and he probably won’t have another until it’s this time of the year again), he feels ready and wonderful and like he can really do this whole Avenging thing.

He has days where he feels like he can’t. Days where he knows he can’t. Days where he doesn’t deserve to even get the chance. But those days are just days, now, and not weeks. It’s alright, he knows. Steve is finally- finally- less macho alpha and more leader, successfully tipping the scales in literally everyone’s favor.

Clint is happy and every time he comes around he’s fucking hyper. Tasha likes him more for his hand in that than for anything else. Bruce is calmer, like he doesn’t need to meditate as much (though he still does) in order to get to his inner peace, kung-fu panda style.

Thor was here for a while, but he didn’t come and visit. He took Jane, though, so maybe they’re tying the knot. Tony decides to set up an alert for doctor Foster so he’ll know when she gets back. 

Pepper isn’t even mad at him for being such a fucking shitty boyfriend, though everyone knows she should be. She even warned him of a couple of board members that whispered they’d be on her side if she chose to, say, freeze him out.

Tony feels like he’s starting to come out on top.  The things he’s doing aren’t immediately backfiring. He’s getting his balance, finally. 

Which is exactly when things get fucked up beyond all recognition.

 

...

 

The first Tony knows of it, the helicarriers are crashing. Clint is away, on mission, in fact. Undercover with Laura. It’s interrupted by a quinjet and a millionaire and the simple explanation: 

“SHIELD is down. Drop what you’re doing and haul ass to wherever. I’ll come find you. And Barton? Be careful. Someone may be Hydra.”

But none of Clint’s crew is Hydra so he keeps them safe and the four of them who are out there in bumfuck nowhere just work on staying hidden and blending in and Clint keeps an arm around Laura for the three days it takes for Tony to get them back to civilization. Once he’s sure his people are set (he is the senior agent; he puts the others first)  he makes his way to the tower.

“YOU RAN ACROSS A LITERAL COMPUTER MAN AND IT DIDN’T OCCUR TO YOU TO FUCKING PICK UP THE PHONE!” is what he stumbles in on, and he can see that Steve and Tony are at it. They’re right up in each other’s faces and Nat is off to the side (Steve’s side, he notices), waiting to see how this would play out.

“What the hell happened!?” Clint shouts out. The two look to him. He thinks he sees something guilty in Steve’s eyes.

“The captain here just dumped literally the entirety of SHIELD’s files onto the internet. Which is how your cover was blown.” That guilty look travels to Nat’s face too, and Clint thinks they must have forgot he was out there in the first place. Clint looks to Steve and then to Nat.

“Why would you do that?”

“SHIELD was infiltrated by Hydra.”

“Seven percent.”

“We thought it was a lot more than that.”

“Yeah and I guess it never occurred to you that there was someone who happened to be uncontrolled by SHIELD but well versed with their systems who could confirm that for you,” Tony spits out. Steve turns back to him.

“We couldn’t trust anyone!”

“Not even yourselves, it looks like. There are people out there dying, right now- innocents- and-”

“There are no innocents in SHIELD,” Steve says, and he’s remembering phase two. He’s remembering all those times people died by SHIELD’s hand- Hydra’s hand- and he doesn’t see Tony cocking back and punching him as hard as he can until the impact knocks him back into the present.

He swings back.

“Hey hey HEY!” Clint shouts and he and Tasha dart between the two and push them back out of each other’s faces.

“Enough, Tony. We need solutions, not more problems,” he says. After a moment, it looks like the gears, not the emotions, are whirling in Tony’s head.

“How about this: until I can clean up your fucking mess, the Avengers are officially in charge of saving every agent we can. You two fuckups will be a part of that or you can get the fuck out of my Tower.”

Clint doesn’t notice at first, but the scent of pheromones in the air has changed to something thicker, heavier, harder to say no to. It’s… almost superior, but without trying. It’s at that moment that he realizes that Tony Stark is an Omega Prime.

It doesn’t suprise him that Steve and Nat agree. They can’t. Not in the face of… this new thing that is Tony Stark. The inventor looks to him. There’s blood on Stark’s lip.

“You in or out?”

“In.”

 

…

 

Tony’s been working a lot, lately, and Pepper’s let him off the hook once he told her about the situation with SHIELD. He tries not to think about it all too deeply.

It took him forty nine hours, but there isn’t a scrap of SHIELD data left on the Internet. It takes him forty nine days, but there isn’t a SHIELD agent out there who hasn’t been accounted for. Or, at least, that he can account for. He keeps his mind on the numbers and the numbers are the easy part, though that doesn’t mean they aren’t a bitch.

Number of active missions: 417

Number of agents on those active missions: 533

Number of agents in the field on those active missions: 500

Number of active field agents reached in the first eight hours: 48

Number of active field agents reached in the next eight hours: 315

Number of active field agents killed in the first eight hours: 36

Number of active agents unaccounted for: 109

Number of inactive SHIELD employees: 4534

Number of inactive SHIELD employees reached in the first eight hours: 4003

Number of inactive SHIELD employees killed in the first eight hours: 21

Number of inactive SHIELD employees unaccounted for: 510

Number of HYDRA employees: 355

Number of HYDRA employees reached within the first eight hours: 57

Number of Hydra employees unaccounted for 298

 

He keeps his mind on this list. Tries to remember that most of the unaccounted for agents are HYDRA, but he can’t and he’s so angry and he can’t even look at Steve because now SHIELD isn’t there which means there is nothing that could act as a first response if the Chitauri arrived and if that happened right now they’d all be DEAD DEAD DEAD.

Every 24 hours, an iron man suit comes out. Every 24 hours, Tony tries to eat at least once. Every 24 hours, death dances just a little bit closer.

He can’t look at Steve and he can’t look at Tasha and at the end of three months there’s this Senate meeting where Natasha tells them that they can’t do shit and Tony wonders how she ever got on as a secret agent because homegirl has NO fucking tact.

But he’s got bigger fish to fry to he focuses on disappearing people and making it okay for the ones left behind. He doesn't want to think about how there are people who’ve lost their families to torture. Familie who’ve lost their husbands or wives to a SHIELD crash.

He doesn’t want to think about how sometimes when he goes to meet an agent in person he gets punched in the fucking face for not making Steve face justice over this and Tony can’t even get all that mad.

Clint sticks around long enough to make sure its alright, but at the end of the day he’s high profile, and he was on the internet, and it’s time for him to go. Tony tries not to be too sad.  Especially since he’d guessed that there was a developing thing between him and Laura and he shouldn’t get in the way of that. Not everyone’s fine with an omega until the end of their days, after all. He makes sure they're set up nicely.

He’s laying in bed one night, fresh off a panic attack and in need of a serious distraction, when he opens up an oldish project file, one that spent about two years on the back burner, and begins to work on it, ULTRON in the top left corner of the screen.


End file.
